


A Warden of the Circle

by ElynnaAmell



Series: The Circle and The Sword [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Adoption, Circle of Magi, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mages and Templars, Multi, POV Multiple, Two Fathers, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElynnaAmell/pseuds/ElynnaAmell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cast out and unwanted when found to have magic, the fifth child of Lady Revka Amell and Ser Carolus Trevelyan of Kirkwall unexpectedly flourished under the careful guidance of the First Enchanter and Knight Commander of Kinloch Hold who loved her as their own. Now, eighteen years later, Elynna Amell hovers at the threshold of becoming an adult in the Circle and looks forward to life as a Circle Mage following her Harrowing. However events involving Anders, Jowan and a mysterious Grey Warden conspire to tear her away from her home and family and thrust her into the middle of events that will change the course of history in Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warden of the Circle

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-publication of "A Warden of the Circle" in a much more polished, extended form. Shockingly I've also decided to publish chapters completely and chronologically before putting up the whole work, unlike what I was doing with the other pieces of "The Circle and the Sword." Pairings, characters and tags will be added as each chapter is added.
> 
> This work in particular is a novelization of the events of DA:O and the DLC, however attempts have been made to tie things in to The Stolen Throne, The Calling, DA2, DA:I as well as lore from The World of Thedas Vol. II.

Early Drakonis 9:30

In the warm, hazy light of the early morn the Tower’s pristine walls glowed golden and the calm water of Lake Calenhad shone like a mirror. Hadley rarely saw the Tower in such a way, but each time he was granted the privilege it genuinely touched his heart. It was a reminder that the Maker truly smiled upon his Templars and Mages both, for here both strove to do His will.

The Templar grimaced, the sight suddenly marred by recollections of his recent journey to Denerim, on the Knight-Commander’s orders. In recent years Greagoir’s trips to the capital had decreased in both number and duration, often sending Callum or Bran in his stead. For whatever reason, both elder Templars had declined, and Hadley had foolishly jumped at the chance. _Anything to show initiative_ , he mocked himself silently. Greagoir had been far too amused at his eagerness, he recalled. Yet a trip to Denerim, to attend Knight-Commander Tavish’s formal investiture seemed hardly the sort of ceremony one would pass up. He’d always been partial to the highly ritualized ceremonies rare events such as this occasioned, so he’d been terribly pleased with himself.

He realized now how naïve he had been, how sheltered the Tower Templars remained, though that had been Greagoir’s doing. The way his fellow brothers and sisters in the Order, as well as the clerics in the capital, maneuvered for power and position made his gut clench. For that matter, while he’d been expecting it of the nobility, he still hadn’t been prepared for the reality of the pit of vipers that was King Cailan’s court. The king and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir had been awe-inspiring to say the least. Arl Eamon Guerrin, his brother Bann Teagan Guerrin and Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever all seemed to be the very embodiment of nobility and chivalry. Yet Hadley doubted very much that the others could go to the Maker at the end of their lives with clear conscience. The Queen particularly: that that woman was the true ruler of Ferelden, Hadley had little doubt. Even Arl Rendon Howe, a hero of White River, put the Templar in mind of a snake. He was glad for the limited time he’d had at Court, though meeting with his brothers and sisters in the Order had gone little better.

In the eighteen years since he’d left the monastery, many of his childhood friends had changed beyond recognition. Rylock, his friend since they were infants in the care of the Order at Bournshire Monastery, his dear friend who always had a joke and a kind word, had become stern and unyielding, bitter even. He’d spent years attempting to persuade Greagoir to transfer her to the Tower, but the rarity of female Templars and the lack of separate space for them would have caused a logistical nightmare given the Order’s preference for single-sex barracks. So she stayed in her post at the Chantry of Our Lady the Redeemer in Amaranthine, a rather active post due to the constant traffic on the Pilgrim’s Path.

They’d envied each other their placements in those last few days at Bournshire. Having seen her harsh demeanor and the real, passionate hatred with which she regarded mages, he was now fervently grateful for his post at the Tower. Even more so though, when he realized how dull and clouded her once bright eyes had become: telltale signs of advanced lyrium addiction. He’d thought himself in love with her once, when they were little more than children and fairly innocent. He’d written her a rather saccharine poem about those very eyes of hers: she had rejected him for the sake of their calling in the Order as well as their friendship. He still remembered how she’d laughed at him that day, though it had been without malice. He knew naught if it had been the lyrium, the politics, the maleficars or perhaps the simple brutality of having to periodically deprive another of their life, but one thing was all too clear: the girl from his childhood was gone.

Looking over the small, nameless fishing village that looked onto the Tower as he walked the path to the docks Hadley envied them their simple lives. He had little doubt that at times their lives could be hard, cruel even in their own way, but lean times and hard work seemed preferable, more honest and right to his mind, than what the Mage Hunters endured. Even the semblance of asceticism that the Tower guards adopted was not without its own set of moral quandaries that needed to be carefully navigated. Perhaps if he’d been born the son of a fisherman, his concern would be for his catch and for his family. Not for what the coming visit of Knight-Commander Tavish might herald for the future of the Tower and the Ferelden Circle.

***

 _"The particular dangers inherent in controlling elemental magic are often exponentially increased under the duress of the Harrowing. In the late Black Age it was observed by Senior Enchanter Anaximander of Cumberland that…_ " A mailed hand covered the page, halting his progress; First Enchanter Irving looked up from his reading, eyebrows furrowed in irritation.

“Knocking is generally considered polite—even here in the Tower.” The First Enchanter’s tone was dry and dangerous. The Knight Commander noted with some apprehension that his anxiety must be high for even that much to show through.

Greagoir removed his gauntlets and brushed a hand across Irving’s cheek, silent concern in his eyes. Irving’s own eyes softened somewhat, though he made no comment as he rose and put his book aside, moving to set a kettle on the fire. The Templar shifted to look at the tome, a rather weathered book that seemed to be bound in quillback leather. _Coming of Age: The Harrowing and the Circle_ was the title embossed on the spine in gold gilt that had been mostly worn away. Elynna’s Harrowing would occur within the week: they’d put it off as long as either of them were permitted. Had she been at any other Circle, had a different mentor even, she would have likely been Harrowed at eighteen if not earlier. Not twenty. As it was, Irving refrained from showing Elynna that he had the slightest doubt in her, though his nerves were as frayed as Greagoir’s. Many good, talented apprentices did not survive to become full mages. It was conceivable that they would be attending Elynna’s funerary rites within the week.

No—Irving had taken precautions. Their girl would be fine, he told himself, though the nagging doubt didn’t dissipate. Sighing, he moved to get Irving’s chessboard. They could both stand a distraction, he thought.

“Well, to what do I owe the honor of being graced by your presence, Knight-Commander?” Greagoir ignored the waspish comment and decided to help himself to some of Irving’s wine. He’d need it to avoid the fight that the man was clearly spoiling for. Irving had already resettled himself at the table, stirring milk into his tea as he returned.

“Hadley returned from Denerim this morning.”

“Oh?” The First Enchanter was clearly expecting a different topic: he settled back in his chair and looked thoughtful, abandoning his irritation for the moment.

“Tavish is apparently two days behind. He’s interested in seeing the workings of the Tower for himself. I also don’t doubt that the Grand Cleric is just itching to get a report from here that wasn’t vetted by me first. Hopefully he won’t be here overlong and will simply just satisfy his curiosity and head back to the capital. Nonetheless,” he paused to sip at his wine, “you’ll need to make it clear to the mages that we simply cannot afford to have the usual shenanigans going on while he is here. I don’t want any of them loitering around the Templar quarters, or pulling pranks, and absolutely no public… displays.”

Irving rubbed at his temples. Yet another headache for him to deal with this week. “How long should we expect him for?”

“A week perhaps, but certainly no more than two.” He saw Irving wince and took the other man’s hand, squeezing it “I’ll try to get rid of him as quickly as I humanly can Irving, but we’re just going to have to muddle through this.”

“When it rains, it surely pours,” his words were bitter but he held onto Greagoir and attempted a weary smile. The Knight-Commander was under no less stress than he, for all the same reasons.

“Have you chosen a guard for Neria’s Harrowing?” The young elf was scheduled to undergo her Harrowing in three days’ time. Normally much of the details of the Harrowing were decided between the First Enchanter and the apprentice’s mentor, but in Uldred’s absence Irving would be standing in for him. Nevermind that he had to deal with his own apprentice’s Harrowing in five days.

“Yes, I’ve sorted it. Calum, Drass and Degan volunteered; Degan will be the one.” Neither needed to clarify what dubious honor Knight Templar Degan had been given. Once, Greagoir had allowed none but himself to take that particular burden upon his soul, but he could no longer bear it alone. The garrison as a whole now shared that sorrowful task.

“And for Elynna?” The mage’s question was softly spoken. They’d been avoiding the subject long enough.

“Hadley, Bran, and Cullen. Of those… Cullen will have to bear that responsibility, unfortunately.”

“Is that wise? Can you trust him to… to do what may need to be done?” Irving focused on the chessboard in earnest.

“When I spoke with her, Elynna asked for those three and they agreed. Our girl and the boy may be head over heels for one another, but he’s is still wedded to his duty and has known her for the least amount of time. No, it’s not that I can’t trust him. It’s whether or not I’d be able to forgive him, and him me if… if it becomes necessary.” Greagoir’s voice trailed off softly and he in turn absorbed himself in the chess game for a time.

With the anxieties weighing on each man’s mind the silence could only charitably be called companionable. And yet, in absorbing themselves in their usual routine, drawing comfort from one another, it could also hardly be called anything other than that.

Soon Irving dared to broach that silence with a new, safer topic. “I’ve had word from Warden Commander Duncan, in reply to his last query on whether we had any recruitable mages. He’ll be here in six days or so for Anders. He also mentioned that the King wants a significantly higher commitment from the Tower—fifty mages in addition to the seven already at Ostagar.” The First Enchanter’s brow creased as he studied the board, careful to not overextend his defense.

Greagoir’s concentration was broken as he gaped at Irving. “Fifty!? The Grand Cleric would have my head for that, Blight or no Blight. The loan of seven senior enchanters, two Templars and a tranquil was a hardly trivial thing for us; we’re hampered enough by lacking a quorum for the Tower Council.” He stared moodily at his wine, “And while I sympathize with those in the South who have to deal with those barbarian refugees, this simply looks like an abnormally large surface raid. Not a Blight.”

Frowning he looked to the mage, “Do we even have fifty mages who would be of any use there? Between the apprentices, the elderly, those who are terrified of their powers and those who have no taste for battle, I’m having trouble believing we could raise that many volunteers.”

Irving snorted, rolling his eyes skywards, “Volunteers? The man thinks mages are allowed to volunteer for what they want…” pointedly he made eye contact with the Templar, “Next he’ll be saying I could succeed the Divine. Lyrium must be eating what little brains the Maker gave him.”

Ignoring Irving’s goading, Greagoir continued to press his argument for some time. Growing increasingly weary, Irving cut him off, “Enough. I need to think on this further.” After a moment Irving chuckled, “Maker, I hope Duncan still has the energy he did twenty years ago—dealing with Anders is hardly for the faint of heart.”

Greagoir snorted, “Poor bastard.” his grew contemplative after a moment, “You know, I do think this is really for the best for Anders. None of those court appointments you were hoping for him would have gone particularly well, I think.”

Irving nodded in agreement, concealing a grin as he realized Greagoir’s inattention had easily cost him the game—he’d be able to reach checkmate in one more move. “Maker help me, I do like that boy even if he is a perpetual burr in my side. He can give into his wanderlust and put his powers to good use, finally.”

The Templar finished his wine and stood, making ready to attend to the details of readying his men for Tavish’s impending visit. Rubbing at his beard, he studied the board. Irving was grinning like a cat in cream, waiting for the Templar to see how close he was to losing.

“Checkmate,” Greagoir announced coolly, capturing Irving’s king and turning to leave. The First Enchanter sputtered even as the other man turned at the doorway to comment, “Not bad for a lyrium-addled halfwit, eh Irving?”

Arriving for lessons an hour later, Elynna still found Irving hunched over the chessboard, tinkering with the pieces and scowling.

***

 _Maker I absolutely hate dealing with embrium_ , Elynna miserably thought for the hundredth time as her eyes watered. Her ivory skin had become red and itchy, oddly accentuating the blue alamarri knots—mage brands—that had already marred her face since she was a toddler. She’d spent the day carrying boxes of dried herbs from the drying racks in the storeroom up to the infirmary. The hated embrium had been left for last, though of course it was needed in copious quantities. Tucking a loose strand of her dark brown hair back into her usually neat bun, she grabbed the last box and began the final trek to the infirmary, glad to be done with her task.

On reaching her destination, Niall could be heard commanding a small army of apprentices and tranquil who were healing, stocking herbs, making poultices and potions and learning the trade more generally. Years of seeing Wynne deftly marshalling everyone around her, and the genuine care she exuded for both her patients and her apprentices had always been awe-inspiring to Elynna. If she could be even a quarter as good with her future apprentices as Wynne was, she’d be happy. While Niall lacked Wynne’s truly commanding air, the young mage was doing well in the Senior Enchanter’s absence: the infirmary still ran like clockwork.

Niall immediately frowned and put a hand to Elynna’s forehead on seeing her enter with the box of herbs; upon looking down and seeing the embrium he smiled wryly and took his hand away. “Go see Petra about some drops for your eyes. Take a few moments before going to your next task—and I’ll keep you far away from the embrium, don’t worry.” Gratefully nodding towards Niall, she moved to where Petra was grinding prophets’ laurel with a mortar and pestle.

Sitting and leaning back on the counter, she let her friend administer the drops, rather than risk accidentally using more than necessary. That Petra was always competent, reliable and gentle didn’t hurt either. Elynna was certain her friend would take Wynne’s place here one day. As Petra finished putting three drops in each eye, the irritation ceased and Elynna breathed a sigh of sheer relief.

Sitting up, she watched carefully as her friend returned to her work. “I heard from Niall that Knight Commander Tavish arrived about twenty minutes ago,” the redhead said conversationally.

“Did he have a retinue?” Elynna resembled nothing so much as a curious cat as her uncannily clear emerald eyes, a legacy of her sire’s family, lit up.

“No, apparently he came alone. No fanfare or anything. Good looking, though. And blond.” Petra smirked at her friend and laughed when Elynna shook her head wryly.

“That… That’s not a cookie jar I’d like to be caught with my hand in. If he didn’t see me made tranquil, Father would certainly tan my hide for being so stupid. No, Petra, even I know where to draw the line. Besides, while Cullen forgives me here and there for letting off steam with you or Kinnon or Anders, I think it’d be a bit too much for him. I really don’t want to lose him over anything stupid.” The jocular tone and mischievous look had faded as she spoke. Petra put a hand on her friend’s shoulder: she was glad Elynna appreciated the templar’s feelings on the matter. She liked the boy, but he was still relatively new to the Tower and it would be too easy for Elynna to accidentally break his heart just by too heavily indulging in the licentiousness that was simply commonplace for the mages. He’d adapt in time though.

“Planning on making a run at him yourself?” Elynna’s eyes were now fully functionally and she moved to begin working on the elfroot poultices as she talked.

“I haven’t made up my mind, though Niall seems uneasy about it… And the way that he and Kinnon gossip, you just know that Kinnon will be against it. It might just be easier to stay away. However…” Petra made eye contact with Elynna, conspiratorially, “There is a pot going on precisely who will be the one to test the Knight-Commander’s fidelity. Current favorite is Karina; he’s married with children, so he clearly can bed a woman. However, if anyone can persuade another man into bed, it’s definitely Jerrell.”

Tapping her nails on the counter and frowning, Elynna thought for a moment “I can’t disagree about Jerrell, but Clarisse and Nessia have their ménage à trois routine down pat. Karina’s a defter touch, I’ll give you that, but those two are determined. And there’s not only two of them, but they’re younger. So I’ll probably put a few silvers on them. Who’s running this?”

Petra giggled, “You’ll never believe it, but its Senior Torrin…” She trailed off hurriedly and resumed her work. Glancing up, Elynna saw Niall shaking his head at both of them. The two of them continued their work, both eagerly looking forward to the dinner bell and their chance to see this new Knight Commander from Denerim.

***

“What was it, eight years as Knight-Captain, Tavish?” Seating himself at far end of the table for dinner, Cullen watched with some fascination as Greagoir seemed uncharacteristically willing to indulge in ordinary conversation tonight. With some skepticism the young templar privately wondered if his commanding officer was merely trying to get the measure of his fellow Knight Commander.

“Yes ser, under Glavin and Tedric before him. I’ve served in Denerim for nigh on twenty-six years now. Didn’t think that I’d be taking over from Glavin for some time, but…” the blond Templar shrugged, “It seems it was the Maker’s will.”

“Nasty business with some maleficarum in the Wending Wood, wasn’t it?” Knight-Captain Callum inquired. Cullen listened eagerly. He’d heard vague rumors about the former Knight Commander of Denerim’s death a month ago, but never the whole story. Admittedly, he was also fascinated with the work the Templar Hunters did: to his young mind it seemed terribly exciting, especially compared to guard duty at the Tower.

“Aye, nearly killed the lot of us. Two abominations and a pack of demons to boot. One of the worst outbreaks we’ve dealt with in years. Damned spellbinds.” Cullen and nearly every other Tower Templar seemed to choke on their ale in unison; that particular slur was never uttered in this Tower. It was tantamount to setting one’s house on fire for no good reason. No few of them looked around, hoping that Tavish had not been overheard. All it would take was one Libertarian feeling particularly aggrieved for fireballs to start flying. Luckily, no one seemed to notice, though Cullen did see the First Enchanter eyeing the Templar table with some amusement.

“We were careful—as they say there are old Templars and there are bold Templars, but no old bold Templars. There was a child, though and I think we let our guard down too quickly after dealing with the first abomination. The demon in the child decided to show itself just as Glavin knelt to see if the girl was alright; tore his head straight from his shoulders. I jumped in and killed her, but it was too late. Glavin was gone and a new trap had been sprung, a new wave of rage demons. Must have been a desire demon, to have been so cunning… Maker rest his soul, Glavin was among the best of us.”

Cullen pushed his meal away, suddenly losing interest in it. Time and time again the senior Templars lectured them on these sorts of dangers, but it was difficult to pay heed. How on earth could he picture his Elynna as a monster? Or Irving or Uldred? So many of the mages were so unassuming and harmless. Yes, perhaps lust ran a bit rampant here, but that was so very different from the wanton violence that Tavish described. Yet an innocent child, young as Edric, Leorah’s young apprentice, had brutally killed a Knight Commander. A chilling tale to be sure. He was soon drawn away from his morbid thoughts as Bran asked Tavish about the Templar tournament that had been held six months prior. Greagoir had forbade any from Kinloch Hold from attending, which had made the thing all the more fascinating.

“…It was all idiocy at best, but since that business in 9:10 the Grey Wardens have had the ear of the crown, so we acquiesce. A whole tournament, merely to pick a new recruit. Mind you, theoretically this was a good opportunity to show off the Order’s best. We’d lose one, naturally, but Glavin had thought it a small price to pay for increasing the public’s goodwill towards the Order.”

Hadley opined carefully, “Yes, I’d heard something about that from the Grand Cleric. She seemed none too pleased at the outcome, but I was unable to inquire further what exactly had gone on.”

Prompted by Hadley, and the ale, Tavish continued to be a bit more loose-lipped than any Knight Commander should, detailing how the Order’s best, Ser Eryhn, Ser Kalvin and Ser Talrew had each acquitted themselves, only to be overlooked for an untried recruit. Cullen watched Greagoir closely, seeing both disdain for Tavish’s gossiping as well as some surprise concerning the recruit taken by the Wardens.

“As you said, Hadley, Her Grace was irate that a callow youth who was perhaps the poorest representative of the Order was taken into the Wardens’ ranks after all that fuss. It’s good that you did not prod her further on that one… The subject of Alistair is one that she prefers to avoid discussing.”

Gaping, Cullen looked at Tavish with a great deal of surprise. Maker, the description matched the Alistair he’d known at Bournshire Monastery to a t. They’d known of each other but were hardly friendly. Alistair, the bastard son of some lord or other, had been given to both fits of sulking over having to be in the Order and cracking jokes at inappropriate moments, including pranking his fellows. Cullen, serious and steady, had never wanted anything more in his young life than to be a Templar; they tended not to mix terribly well. He’d been glad to have been selected by Greagoir to serve at Kinloch Hold, especially on learning that Alistair and his pranks would be in Denerim.

“Alistair… From Bournshire Monastery?” Greagoir’s inquiry mirrored Cullen’s thoughts.

Tavish seemed intrigued that his quiet colleague had chosen this moment to interject, “Aye. Did you ever meet the lad, Greagoir?”

“Briefly, two years ago. I was at Bournshire to collect a new recruit for the Tower. I’m actually somewhat surprised that you lads in the Denerim chapter seem to think so little of the boy… Alistair had an earnestness about him that I liked. Had young Cullen and Beval over there not been quite so promising, I would have taken on Alistair here at the Tower. As it was, Glavin and I had been discussing possibly transferring the boy here, given how poor a fit he was in Denerim. After Glavin’s death, I assumed that plan was simply lost in the shuffle. I’d intended to bring it up with you, though clearly that is no longer necessary.”

Cullen nearly choked on that. Thank the Maker for small favors that the Wardens had taken the smart-mouthed recruit. Alistair would likely have taken to life at the Tower a bit too well. Though his temperament would likely put him at odds with the Templars and he’d be a great favorite amongst the mages. Andraste knew that Elynna would have certainly found him as entertaining as Anders. No, Cullen would be glad to never see that man again.

For the remainder of the meal Cullen chatted amiably with Beval and Farris, the table having split off into smaller conversations. As ever, Cullen could still sense the Knight Commander’s watchfulness; the man often opted for a disconcerting detachment to observe his men. He contrasted sharply with his colleague from Denerim, who was animatedly involved in a conversation over some shared episode in the capital with Hadley. Even in knowing that his Commander was watching them all like a hawk, Cullen couldn’t help but sneak glances over at the nearby table where a collection of mage apprentices gathered. Elynna laughed at some joke they all shared, her face luminous. He was so wrapped up in watching her, Cullen missed Beval’s latest complaint about Knight-Captain Callum and was promptly elbowed in the ribs.

While not generally one for confrontation, Cullen had no compunction about returning the gesture and scowling at his friend. They’d been close since Cullen had joined the Order at thirteen and in some ways Beval was more a brother to him at this point than Branson. Farris grinned at their antics and made some suggestive comments concerning a few of the apprentice girls, something that ceased almost immediately on Greagoir’s sharp reprimand from the head of the table. The boys resumed their meal in a more subdued fashion. Eventually the Templars split into two groups, one to return to duty and precede the mages leaving the hall, the other to go off duty and wait for the hall to be generally clear of the mages.

Cullen was glad of the opportunity to return to the barracks. Today had been a long day and he really only wanted to curl up in his bunk and go to sleep. As he waited for the mages to clear out he scanned the crowd, searching for Elynna. Predictably she was taking her time leaving, focused on some discussion with Niall. He tried to catch her eye to no avail.

“ ’Lynna…” Cullen called to her hesitantly. He never knew how to behave around her, always anxious that one day she’d simply move on to someone else, as so many of the mages tended to do. Yet, seeing her turn towards him, those green eyes lighting up with love and desire calmed that fear for the moment. She embraced him and wrinkled her nose adorably, as she always did, at his wearing armor. She looked up at him and pouted; he answered with chuckle and a kiss.

She smelled like crystal grace and rain; clearly working in the infirmary all day. He resisted the urge to pin her against the wall; they both had specific orders to avoid each other while Tavish was at the Tower. Neither listened particularly well, but giving in to primal passions was an easy way to get caught. If holding her and peppering her with gentle kisses was the best he could get right now, he’d settle for it over completely cutting contact for a few weeks.

After a few moments more they parted, he returning to the barracks and she to the lower floors. Beval gave him a knowing wink as he passed. Cullen ignored him this time; Knight-Captain Callum was only steps away and would all too gladly discipline the young Templars for horseplay. He was more than ready to climb into his bed at this point and wished to avoid anything that would keep him from that goal.

***

“Grand Cleric Elemena has noted your diligence in the matter concerning the mage, Anders. Confinement in the lower cells appears to be the only solution for the moment: she strongly suggests that this treatment continue.”

After an accident with a few alchemical ingredients, Elynna had come looking for a new scabbard in Greagoir’s bedroom, though she soon found herself trapped when Tavish and Greagoir entered Greagoir’s sitting room for a private discussion after dinner. She particularly did not wish to make her presence known as her father had given strict instructions to bar all mages—especially her—from the Templar Quarters while Tavish was present. However, their discussion had soon turned to Anders more than piquing her interest: she felt a pit in her stomach at the thought of her friend lingering down in the darkness, indefinitely.

“The Grand Cleric has an interest in this? Anders has a talent for escaping, yes, but he’s hardly a terrible danger: he’s a healer… The lad can barely manage to stay out of the reach of the Order, at any rate. I suspect that his antics are a form of entertainment for him,” she heard her father’s careful, neutral tones. She’d always admired how controlled he was: those words in another’s mouth would drip with sarcasm.

“I mean no disrespect, Ser Greagoir, but how could this have escaped her notice? Indeed, I was led to believe the Divine herself knows something of the matter… He’s escaped six times and this most recent attempt involved a merry chase across the Free Marches, sketchy evidence of contact with the Mages’ Collective, capture by Starkhaven’s Templars, and a rather protracted and public negotiation between Kinloch Hold and Starkhaven in getting the boy transferred back here. He’s possibly the most notorious mage the Circle has had since Adain of Starkhaven. Ferelden is being pressured to make this problem go away quietly, by any means necessary.”

Tavish paused; while Elynna could not see his face, the tense silence spoke volumes. When he spoke again, it was in tones so low that she had to get down on her belly, to listen at the door jamb just to hear him. “Greagoir, ser, the Grand Cleric thinks the Seekers might be sent to deal with him… If he had only remained in Ferelden, you see, he would have been overlooked. Val Royeaux and the rest of Thedas care little for the goings on in Ferelden. Involve the Free Marches, particularly a city practically on Tevinter’s doorstep, and, well… Steps must be taken. None of this can be… official… you understand, but you’re to give him a choice: continued solitary confinement or tranquility. Her Grace and numerous others in Denerim are eager to avoid the Seekers’ attention… While I would never presume to tell you your business, Ser Greagoir, tranquility is certainly the more favored option.”

“I see.” Elynna knew that non-commital response: it was anything but. She pictured Tavish squirming under Greagoir’s cool gaze, a suspicion that was confirmed as she heard the younger Knight Commander made his retreat. Now came the dangerous part as she wished to slip out without her father’s notice. She prayed he’d leave to attend to some other matter.

Eventually her wish was granted, though a long hour of listening, tensed to dive under the bed to hide—true hiding spaces were few and far between in these spartan quarters—had been her lot. She darted out into the Templar Quarters and began to briskly make her way to the library. In passing she placed a pebble here, a sprig of elfroot there, calling her friends together. They’d been waiting for this, and some had preempted her to the arranged spot.

  
Since Anders’ return, they had planned. The year in solitary seemed cruel, though it was hardly truly solitary for Anders. After many long and tearful arguments with his daughter, Greagoir allowed Anders’ friends daily visits, thought they needed to be supervised by at least two Templars. That hardly mattered in anyone’s mind, however. Neria, Uldred and others frequently accused Elynna, Wynne and Irving of being loyalists in all but name: the templars’ pets. Greagoir’s daughter, Hadley’s niece, Cullen’s lover, Carroll’s friend—her ties to the Order were strong and many, but that didn’t blind her to the problems that plagued the Tower. And so she turned to use the more subversive methods of the Aequitarian fraternity, taking a cue from Anders’ last “escape” attempt, one facilitated by Wynne and her Mages’ Collective contacts.

Neria lounged in a seat in the apprentice training section of the library, their pre-arranged meeting spot for the day. Her lips were pursed as she read her book, seemingly studying. Elynna knew that look and prayed for patience. It was as if a coin-toss decided the black-haired elf’s temperament each day, and Elynna increasingly found her friend’s taciturn moods more difficult to bear. She resigned herself to sit and quietly read, rather than risk a waspish comment. The chilly atmosphere was broken within a half hour as Kinnon, Petra, Corliss and Niall joined them. Not long ago and Jowan would have been amongst the conspirators. Lately he’d been acting oddly, however, and Neria had argued against his inclusion for reasons of her own.

As far as any watcher saw, their conversation revolved around healing techniques and a great deal of passing notes. Even the notes were written in a cypher meant to match the conversation, though they were properly read through some simple spells. The gist of the argument revolved around the need for altering their original timeline; tranquility was on the table, making their efforts utterly imperative, rather than vaguely academic. Tomorrow night, it would need to be.

Each had their part to play, but Petra, Niall, and Corliss as fully Harrowed mages were taking on the lion’s share of the risk, each having manufactured reasons for leaving the Tower and permissions received. Originally they were going to spring Anders’ during Corliss’ window for leaving for Highever to serve Teyrn Cousland, but that was three months away. As it was, Petra would bear the brunt of Irving and Greagoir’s displeasure if Anders’ escape method was found out this time.

The famously prickly Enchanter Ines had requested an assistant who was, in her words, “not completely incompetent” for her studies of the flora in Amaranthine Arling. It was a remote enough posting, and Petra an unassuming enough mage, that the Circle would be hard-pressed to connect Anders to it all in any way. That was the hope at least.

Eventually, after much arguing, it was decided that it would need to be done in two days. Irving and Greagoir would certainly be making efforts to hamper Tavish and persuade him that the rite was unnecessary, though they couldn’t rely on that indefinitely. For their preparations they couldn’t move sooner, at any rate.

Long after leaving the table and returning to her bunk in the girls’ dormitory, Elynna’s heart hadn’t ceased pounding. Her conscious wasn’t entirely comfortable with the role she needed to play. Initially the idea had been put forward with the intention of finding a better way to deal with the Templars with more time to plan. But they had no such time and she might well have innocent blood on her hands. Though, if they did nothing, one of her dearest friends might cease to be anything but a husk of a man. She left her bed after a time and went to the chapel to pray for guidance.

***

It had been years since anyone questioned her right to move about the Tower, and frankly no one cared if an older apprentice was up and about. The Templars still watched, but knew that an apprentice looking for a midnight snack was hardly a reason to raise a hue and cry. Elynna’s goal was indeed the kitchens, so subterfuge was hardly necessary: the risk had been taken earlier that day.

Her work for the infirmary had given her access to the storeroom frequently lately. It had been a simple task for her to take an empty bag labelled “sugar” from the kitchens and fill it with ground felandaris root, which looked dangerously similar to sugar. Anyone handling it would have likely known that it had to be Felandaris—unless one lacked the emotions necessary to sense the dread that poured off the plant, even after it had been dried and ground. The tranquil cooks, who never sampled the food they cooked, trusting to their own sense of perfection, would use the stuff without being tipped off.

The Felandaris would end up in the huge communal cauldron that would be used to cook the next day’s porridge, poisoning everyone taking breakfast that day. It was the only way to prevent this from looking like a targeted attack on the Templars guarding the door. Instead, in the aftermath it would merely look like a terrible accident: Elynna would swear that she didn’t realize she’d put the root in a bag meant for sugar.

Felandaris lost a great deal of potency when dried, but for those who use lyrium or possess magic the fade-exposed plant could still cause terrible hallucinations and dizzy spells. Their little conspiratorial coterie was banking on the hallucinations to get Anders out. They could hardly use a glamor to fool Templars, so non-magical means had had to be sought. So Elynna would need to poison the tower.

They hadn’t allowed the plant too long to dry, not wanting to risk the efficacy of the plant: the Tranquil would, after all, only use as much as they would as if they were indeed using sugar. And therein had lain the problem as they had to be certain that the amount was enough to affect large, muscular grown men. For most, they were certain that the worst of the effects would be limited to a great deal of vomiting. But there was a strong possibility that the youngest children could die.

Elynna had spent the last day fretting over the plan to the point of abandoning it. Anders would rather be made tranquil than be responsible for the accidental deaths of the youngest children, she knew. But it wasn’t a guaranteed thing that the root would kill them. It was even possible that they would be more likely to refuse to eat the stuff due to the bitterness of the Felandaris.

She wasn’t willing to bank on that possibility, however, and had begged Petra to help her in forcing growth from the blackberry plants earlier that day. They had harvested as many as they possibly could, delivering them to the kitchens with orders, ostensibly from Irving though never explicitly stated, that they were to be given as a treat for the apprentices with their breakfast, serving the youngest to the oldest as was usual with those sorts of things. Elynna had of course, doused them thoroughly in a potion of elfroot and crystal grace to counter the felandaris. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that this plan was not only unnecessarily excessive, but quite frankly the stupidest thing she had ever done. Anders had better not waste this opportunity.

She moved the bag towards the front of the table, guaranteeing its use in the morn. Quickly grabbing a pastry she headed back to the dormitory, the Templars nodding pleasantly at her as she passed. Guilt wracked her, but she remained calm. Steps resounding ahead of her in the Senior Mage quarters sent her heart pounding momentarily. Two Templars escorted a mage. As she looked more closely she saw it was Knight Captain Callum and Drass with Neria.

“Elynna, back to bed child.” Drass chided her, though not harshly. The brown haired Templar was rarely stern, his temperament making him suitable for guarding the youngest apprentices. He rarely attended to the duties attached to Harrowing mages, though Maker knew Neria had a difficult enough temperament that Drass would be one of the few willing to volunteer for her. Elynna smiled at her friend and silently wished her luck, moving away as Callum turned to glare at her to get moving. Maker watch over her, she prayed for her friend, silently, though knew that Neria wouldn’t welcome it.

By the time she’d reached the dormitory she’d almost forgotten her original reason for going to the kitchen. And in remembering, an icy fear clenched at her gut. Neria was supposed to help get Anders out of the basement cells with Corliss and Niall tomorrow morning. Whether she passed her Harrowing or not, she’d never be in any sort of shape to do what needed to be done. It wasn’t the worst setback, but every problem meant a greater chance of failure. Before long, dawn’s light had crept into the high windows, though the young apprentice hadn’t slept.

***

“First Enchanter, I’m told that young Neria’s Harrowing last night went extremely well,” Revered Mother Mathilde pleasantly attempted to initiate conversation with Irving, though the mage desperately wanted to get through the day with as little interaction with others as possible. He was tired and cranky, to put it mildly. And yet again due to Tavish, Greagoir had segregated the Templars to an end table, rather than taking his meal with Irving, his officers and the few remaining senior enchanters. Usually the Knight-Commander could be counted on to divert the Revered Mother, but today Irving just bore it. Mathilde was a kind woman, well-beloved by both the Templars and the small group of religious mages, but she was far too cheerful in the morning for Irving’s liking.

“Yes, yes it did. She’s quite talented; Uldred will no doubt be proud… Fastest, cleanest Harrowing I’ve ever seen, frankly.” He smiled briefly and began to dig into his porridge. He hardly felt like eating, but it seemed the most polite way to avoid conversation. He made a face upon tasting how bitter it was: the oats had clearly spoiled some time ago. Such things happened: it looked edible enough however, so he continued eating as if nothing were amiss, seeing similar reactions from his fellow mages. The Tower was hardly wealthy enough that food could be wasted, no matter what the common folk thought of their lives here.

The poor quality of the porridge was enough to set Mother Mathilde back to badgering Irving, however. “It seems more likely that Senior Enchanter Uldred will be happier to learn that he will no longer be burdened with an apprentice, though I must say he did do well by Neria, for all his complaining.”

Raising an eyebrow at that uncharacteristically critical remark, Irving cautiously replied, “Oh, I’m not certain of that. Neria and he are of a similar temperament. I doubt he regretted taking her on after all—perhaps it was only having to admit that Wynne may have been right that galled him. I suspect that Neria will continue to keep company with Uldred. I must admit,” he said, beginning to become a bit more gregarious, “I’m often saddened when apprentices drift from their mentors after their Harrowing. We invest so much time in them, raising them really, that I’m always cautious about how I pair mentors and apprentices. Those who part ways… I always wonder if I could have done better by that student.”

Patting Irving’s arm, Mathilde smiled at the mage, “Irving, I have no doubt that such things are more the apprentice’s personality than a fault in how you paired them. Many children drift from their parents… Why should it be different here, when the ties are not as strong?” Seeing that she’d unintentionally offended him she added quickly, “You do all you can for everyone here, Irving. This I do not doubt. If anything is evidence of that, Elynna certainly is. That young woman is a credit to you and the Circle.”

A wave of dizziness hit Irving as he turned to look for his daughter. She wasn’t at her usual place, though that was hardly cause for concern. Friends often hovered around recently Harrowed mages, taking care of them as their strength returned. He put a hand to his temple, wondering if he had overextended himself. Perhaps a nap would be in order after breakfast, he thought.

He returned to his porridge, determined to get through breakfast as quickly as possible. As he ate, his general feeling improved: perhaps he just needed some food. It took little time for pandemonium to hit the hall, however. Many who began to leave for lessons were falling to the floor, others giggling uncontrollably. Irving, for his part, began to see long-dead friends and mentors and some of the rarer denizens of the fade appear before his eyes, all in colors that he’d never encountered beyond the fade.

He stood uneasily, and called the hall to order, having everyone be seated. He sent the tranquil scurrying for herbs and attempted to take control of the situation. Mother Mathilde was as unaffected as the tranquil, so he sent her to sit with the youngest apprentices. He suspected he knew what was happening: it’d been years since he’d smoked felandaris, but he could still easily identify the effects. There was nothing to do but ride out the high, always safest done while seated or lying down. As far as he could ascertain the mages were weathering it well: the plant was used by them recreationally fairly frequently. The Templars, however, seemed on the verge of panic. Soon it became difficult to differentiate reality from the fade-hallucinations caused by the felandaris. Irving relaxed and just tried to enjoy it: there was little else that could be done.

***

“How in the void are we supposed to unlock the cell?” hissed Niall as they crept around the basement. Neria was still out cold, and they lacked a mage with entropic magic to deal with the cell locks. Every other detail, from stealing the basement key to obtaining the amulets that kept the sentinels pacified had been dealt with. Elynna had rushed to help Niall and Corliss to take Neria’s place. Not that she was going to be particularly useful: Niall had spirit and creation magic, while Corliss had elemental. Neria would have been the fourth part of the spell that would open the locks on Anders’ cell if a non-templar needed to open it. The precaution ensured that only the most senior mages could access the cells.

“I’ve seen Father do a lot of the entropy spells… I’ll manage it.” Elynna asserted. Both men turned to stare at her, neither needing to say that that was quite possibly the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. They continued deeper towards the cells, avoiding talking, all concerned that their plans were about to unravel because they hadn’t planned on Neria being Harrowed.

Passing through one of the store rooms, Elynna stopped and stared at the creatures caged. She’d heard that the storerooms had had a deepstalker problem a month ago, but had never had a chance to see for herself. Irving and Greagoir had personally dealt with the matter, wanting to cage a few for study. Irving had come back with a few strangely circular bite marks that Elynna treated as part of her healer training, but she could have hardly imagined that anything resembling these alien creatures had caused them. A tug on her sleeve from Corliss forced her to tear her gaze away and continue onwards to the cells.

For months the mages had fought to get Anders out of the cells. This sort of punishment had not been implemented since Knight Commander Robard’s day, and seemed unnecessarily cruel. Even with daily visits from friends, Anders remained confined in a cell that stank of stale piss, alone for the majority of his time, except for Mr. Wiggums, the Tower’s mouser. Anders always had a cavalier attitude about it whenever they came to see him, but each time Elynna’s heart broke a bit more: it was nearly as bad as the day that Karl was asked to go to Kirkwall.

“What’s this? Ditched our armored nursemaids, have we?” His robe was stained and his face was dirt streaked. He’d made an attempt to keep his hair neat, but Anders’ usual flair was missing.

“We’re getting you out, Anders.” Corliss’ words seemed to hang in the air. The blond’s eyebrows shot up, stunned that these three, of all his friends, were the ones springing him.

“And how exactly…?” Corliss shook his head at Anders, concentrating on the lock. A sustained fire spell, concentrated for a small area, flared from his hands. Niall followed with blasts of both creation and spirit. Nothing happened.

Niall swore. Anders himself had some entropic magic, but his cell had neutralization glyphs carved into the stone. They had hoped that perhaps three types of magic would be enough to deal with the lock, but it was clear they did indeed need the fourth.

“Try it again.” The three men stared at her: a primal mage manifesting entropic magic was incredibly unlikely. They had nothing else planned, however, so they went ahead. Elynna attempted to summon the decaying energies associated with entropic magic. She had it within reach, could almost reach for the source of it, but knew she was falling short of actually manifesting the energies. Curious, however, she physically grasped the lock itself whilst summoning the power and was rewarded with an audible click. She looked smugly at Corliss and Niall.

“Father’s fairly poor with spirit energy. I’m not surprised that it would come unlocked without even reaching the spell threshold. I had to try.”

Niall looked at her sourly, “You should have said that earlier. I can reach for the entropic source—“

Anders cut him off, “Can we get out of this damned basement and you children can argue theory later?” Corliss smirked and clapped Anders in a brief hug as the four turned to go back the way they had come. As they moved, they informed Anders of what would need to happen.

Reaching the antechamber of the basement, Anders wasted little time in dipping his hair into the red dye and donning the female version of mage robes fit to his size. Corliss heated the air to speed the drying of the dye. No sober person would have ever been fooled by Anders’ disguise, but the Felandaris should be fully effective at this point, particularly for the door guards who breakfasted earlier than the rest of the tower.

Ducking upstairs, Corliss checked to be certain Petra was waiting. None of the trio wished to be caught with Anders and were going to attempt to hold a projection of Anders’ image on the cell. With breakfast being so chaotic his cell likely wouldn’t be checked physically until dinner. Every hour they could buy him would be precious. With any luck the news would also send Knight-Commander Tavish packing.

Looking at her friend for the last time in her life, Elynna’s eyes teared up. She embraced the blond mage who returned the hug and gave her a lingering kiss on the lips, giving the same farewell to Niall and Corliss on his return as well.

“For the love of the Maker, Anders, I don’t want to see you here ever again. Don’t let those bastard mage hunters find you… There’s lots of wilderness in Ferelden. Get lost for a few years before trying for Kirkwall.” He nodded, sheepishly at Niall’s remark. They all knew he’d go to Karl eventually, but he needed to be alive, to let the heat die down before doing so. Perhaps they’d find a way to get ahold of his phylactery in the meantime.

Anders headed up the steps where Petra was waiting. Elynna could hear him making a joke to her about how he pulled off her look far better than she could. Her heart hurt somewhat, as she shut the door again, the three heading back to set the illusion and cover their tracks. Anders was a bright, shining joy to have as a friend and he’d be gone forever, if they were successful. It was a bittersweet thing.

Hours later their labors had been completed: Petra confirmed her presence on the road with Anders. He had apparently chosen to leave his hair red for the time being: it seemed that his blond hair, coupled with his incorrigible personality, was striking enough to be memorable, so he chose to confuse the issue by being memorable as a redhead. Neria had awoken by the time the news came in; they all gathered at her bedside and laughed on hearing of their latest expoits. Jowan had even joined them, to their surprise. He’d been distant the past few months, though Elynna supposed it was due to what he thought was a secret relationship with the initiate, Lily. Not that they were terribly obvious, but it was difficult to have secrets in a Tower of but three hundred people. Having Jowan back, even momentarily helped to dull the loss.

By mid-afternoon, the Felandaris had worn off most everyone. Stories were shared of the hallucinations everyone experienced. While the mages took it all in stride, the Templars were on edge. Tavish particularly demanded an explanation for the turn of events: Greagoir relented and began to question the kitchen staff thoroughly, eventually realizing the issue had originated in the stockrooms.

***

None of the mages were missing and no one had suffered any real harm. Until Hadley had pulled him aside, Greagoir had been convinced that yesterday’s Felandaris incident was simply a terrible mistake on someone’s part. Tavish’s reaction had predictably been a bit hotheaded, but not entirely out of line: he himself was quite curious how this could have happened, though he doubted he’d be giving more than a lecture on carelessness to the offending mage.

But late last night Hadley had approached him, anxious and stammering somewhat. Anders was gone. His escape was clearly tied to the Felandaris incident, but Greagoir would be damned if Tavish would carry word of this mishap back to Denerim. He’d give the boy a few months’ head start before sending a request to Denerim for his phylactery to be tracked. It seemed to be the only way of avoiding turning this incident into a full blown investigation into the Tower which could only end with his “retirement” to Val Royeaux and a horde of seekers descending on the Tower. He recalled the last time that had occurred, after the 9:10 Orlesian Rebellion, and shuddered.

No, this morn he’d continue his inquisition: searching for the felandaris culprit as if it were an isolated incident. Tavish and Irving joined him as they had yesterday when they questioned the kitchen staff: it appears the felandaris was in a burlap bag labelled “sugar.” Today Tavish was near to turning this into a witch hunt and Irving was none too pleased with leaving his mages alone to face him. Though, right now it hardly seemed necessary. Niall sat calmly before the three men, answering directly and calmly. Somewhat despite himself, he felt a great deal of respect for his daughter’s first love. He’d make a fine mentor in the coming years.

“I checked with Leorah, Niall. None of the mages or tranquil working with her had cause to touch the felandaris. It’s typically part of the infirmary’s stores. Who have you had dealing with it these past few weeks?” Irving asked the young man, nothing accusatory in his tone. This cat and mouse game, Irving advocating and Greagoir intimidating, almost always got them the answers they needed. Some took the carrot and others only spoke under threat, but they always broke.

“First Enchanter, if you’ll permit me to fetch my notes, I can tell you precisely whose duty that was. I’ve been rather busy checking over the Templars after the incident to have time to attend to that, but I assure you that it’s been foremost in my mind after comparing my experiences of yesterday to descriptions from Enchanter Ines’ Botanical Compendium.” Greagoir noticed Irving’s lips momentarily twitch in response to that rather diplomatic response.

  
Maker help me, the Templar prayed, hoping that the recreational herb use would remain out of sight of Denerim’s Knight Commander. It would be all too easy to paint Kinloch Hold as a den of iniquity no better than a brothel. Greagoir suppressed a grin himself as he wryly thought that no, perhaps at least whores at a brothel earned an honest living: the libertine life of the mages here was financed to a degree by the coffers of the faithful, somewhat ironically.

Greagoir nodded to Niall to run and get his notes from the infirmary. Tavish turned towards him, “Should a Templar accompany him? He could easily alter the records. Perhaps he’s behind it.”

Somewhat unwisely, Irving snorted derisively at Tavish’s suggestion, “Many of the mages, myself included, are devious as they come, Knight Commander. Niall is one of the few honest ones. He’ll never go far in Circle politics, but he’s steady. Besides,” Irving smirked, “you don’t think I lack the means to identify forged documents, do you?”

Looking somewhat like a chastened Templar initiate, Tavish nodded politely to Irving’s remark and remained silent until Niall’s return. Greagoir, for his part, was satisfied to let Irving needle Tavish. His satisfaction lasted up to the moment when Niall returned with not only his notes but with Elynna.

Niall motioned for Elynna to sit, he remained standing, leaning on the back on her chair, one hand rubbing her shoulder almost unconsciously, though protectively. The small smile that graced her face tugged at Greagoir’s heart: he wanted her to be happy, but Maker, she really needed to cut down on how many of these boys she was entangled with. His musing was cut short as Irving addressed Niall again.

“Well, let me see the records, lad.”

Handing Irving the book, Niall spoke hurriedly, “That’s why I collected Elynna, First Enchanter. It seems that she was the one to handle powdering the felandaris and storing it…” Irving squinted at the notes and nodded. He dismissed Niall and the three men turned their attention to Elynna.

“Seems like a rather hare-brained mistake, apprentice,” Tavish addressed her. Elynna returned his gaze steadily, though her body was tensed.

“As… As I told Niall on my way here, it was an accident. I was told to use the workbench in the storeroom to powder the felandaris and store it using one of the extra burlap sacks lying around. It didn’t occur to me that there were separate piles for use by the infirmary and the kitchens, or to even check that it was labelled. I’d spent much of the day working with embrium, and I’m allergic, you can ask anyone—“

“I’m not particularly interested in your excuses, girl. Frankly, they seem quite weak. What game are you playing at? Petty revenge on the Circle for your confinement here? Or do you just like to watch the suffering of others? Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Tavish barked at her, noticing that she appeared to be pleading with her eyes to Irving to intercede. Greagoir’s hackles were up: he glared steadily at the other Knight Commander, daring him to continue. For his part, Tavish did not notice the strange behavior of his brother Templar, focused as he was on the two mages.

“N-no ser. I-I swear it was an accident. The bags, they’re, they’re all in a pile. I can show you… I didn’t realize…” Elynna was on the verge of tears, though something seemed off. His daughter was lying through her teeth, though Greagoir wasn’t about to let on to Tavish that he knew that. One lone tear trickled down her mage-branded cheek and she looked up through her thick lashes at Tavish, those emerald Trevelyan eyes of hers big and frightened. Oh yes, she was lying and lying masterfully.

“Apprentice Elynna Amell, is it?” Tavish changed his line of questioning quickly; clearly he wasn’t buying her performance either. Or merely didn’t trust any mage as far as he could throw them. Sensible attitude for a Templar hunter, perhaps even more sensible in the Tower.

“Yes, ser.” Elynna bit her lip and continued to look like a frightened doe. She risked looking at Greagoir and then away quickly. Perhaps not all the fear was feigned.

“Twenty years of age and yet to go through the Harrowing… It’s my understanding that it’s the least powerful mages who are Harrowed at twenty. The least trustworthy, as well. Perhaps this incident only speaks to what the Circle refuses to say about those such as you… Perhaps tranquility would be fitting—to prevent such ‘accidents’ from reoccurring. Doubtless I could get your mentor to agree… If you simply admit to whatever malice you had intended, perhaps, if indeed it was petty as I believe, you could still be allowed to be Harrowed. On the condition of limited post-Harrowing privileges, of course.”

The little color that Elynna’s ivory complexion possessed had fled. She looked positively sick. Greagoir made to step forward to steady her, fearing she looked ready to pass out, but Irving, face flushed with anger, moved to stand between his ward and the Denerim Knight Commander.

“Perhaps you are unaware, Knight Commander, but Elynna is MY apprentice. Threaten her again and I’ll not be responsible for the state you leave my Tower in.” His words were quiet, filled with a contained rage. Greagoir and Elynna both were surprised: Irving loved to leave Elynna to find her own solutions to problems, rarely becoming the overprotective father that Greagoir was. Catching Elynna’s expression, hidden from Tavish by the First Enchanter, Greagoir was touched to see the pure worship for her mage father there.

Tavish blinked. He clearly had been unaware. For a tense moment no one spoke.

Greagoir moved to fill the silence, “Irving, perhaps you could speak with your apprentice about this at greater length? In the meantime, I for one, disagree about tranquility. Elynna has been, for the most part, an exemplary apprentice in this circle. Even in this instance, no one suffered serious injury.”

Nodding towards Greagoir Irving directed Elynna to leave and wait in his quarters. He turned to follow, though paused and addressed Tavish, “Knight Commander, the age at which an apprentice is Harrowed has more to do with the willingness of their mentor to let them go than their inherent talent. I’m afraid I’m a selfish old man and sought to keep training her for as long as I could. She’s anything but incompetent, Ser.” Irving swept out of the room imperiously. It took little time for a flustered Tavish to excuse himself to the Templar quarters before Greagoir moved to join Irving and Elynna.

Elynna was cuddled up closely to Irving on the couch, the mage kissed her forehead as Greagoir entered. Greagoir kissed both of them, glad to be with his odd little family rather than in the company of his brother Templar.

“Now, pet, what exactly was this all about?” Irving had clearly waited for Greagoir before asking Elynna anything.

She looked sheepish, so Greagoir moved to pre-empt her, none too pleased with her actions. “Interestingly, Anders appears to have taken advantage of the chaos and escaped. Again. Odd how well he timed that…” He levelled a look at Elynna, his gray eyes accusing.

“Maker… Elynna, you didn’t, did you?” Irving pulled away from her to stand and pace, his face quickly flushing red with a suppressed anger.

“You children never think. Not one fucking brain in your demon-riddled skulls. There were plans in place for Anders. Do you really think I’d continue to let him rot down there? Andraste’s ashes, Elynna, he’ll be killed if he’s caught again!” For the second time that day, Irving had worked himself into a fit. Elynna sat petrified whilst Irving berated her for the first time in eighteen years.

“That stunt with the felandaris was bad enough. You best thank the Maker that no one was hurt… What happens when Tavish finds out, hmmm? Who else was involved? Was the plan that you’d take the blame?” Irving continued, speaking somewhat to himself, “I do everything I can to keep all of us safe. Everything. How many years and sacrifices have I given, to create a haven in this tower? You,” he turned his gaze back to his daughter, his hazel eyes stern, “have seen the Gallows. This Tower was a shade better than that when I was a child here, and only just. You have never had to worry about random beatings or rapes from the Templars. You have never been confined within the Tower itself, not allowed the freedom of the grounds, for years on end. You don’t live in fear of becoming attached to your fellow mages because they might disappear the next day—perhaps beaten dead by a Templar, perhaps transferred for little reason. You were never, EVER starved for affection as a scared child because you were improperly matched with a mentor. Your father and I made that all possible.”

Irving turned to stare at the mantle above the fire, pausing, “The Grand Cleric is anxious to replace Greagoir here. He’s older than most Knight Commanders manage to be and I suspect she has a nephew in the Order who wants a position. Your father has the complete loyalty of the garrison here, however… It would not only be difficult to remove him from command, but potentially stupid for her to try. There are more than a few rumors that he’s fairly lax as well; hardly a crime, but not the sort of thing the Order wishes to encourage. There are vultures circling this tower, waiting for him to have a mishap. You, my dear, may have just created that opportunity. Anders is much more than a small problem in the eyes of the Chantry.”

Tears ran down Elynna’s face, real ones this time. Greagoir held her, stroking her back as she turned to embrace him, sobbing.

Pity lit Irving’s eyes, though Elynna could not see his expression, “Child, I had contacted the Commander of the Grey not long ago. Anders was to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens. He would have been free to range with his fellow wardens and never concern himself with the apostacy laws, even should he have chosen to leave the Wardens and perhaps go to Kirkwall to find Karl. I wanted him to be safe and happy, Elynna, but unlike you and your short-sighted friends, I am unwilling to sacrifice the well-being of every mage here to do so…” Irving sighed, “Pet, for years I dreamed of you succeeding me as First Enchanter someday, or even something greater. You are a true child of this circle and I thought I’d raised you to put the good of our community above your own selfish desires. If nothing else, the felandaris incident proves that I am perhaps a poorer judge of character than any First Enchanter should be.”

Casting one glace at Greagoir and Elynna and shaking his head, Irving left his rooms. Greagoir continued to hold his daughter. He hoped that Irving would cool off enough to be civil to her. While the First Enchanter may have forgotten, the Knight Commander had not: Elynna’s Harrowing was that night. They might have only hours left with the child they had raised for eighteen years.


End file.
